Had Our Roads Not Been Crossed
by Silver Maze
Summary: AU What are the odds of Sherlock Holmes and James Moriarty being born around the same time? In this world, they sadly missed each other. However, that does not mean that they don't meet each other. Sherlock is living in the house James is haunting.
1. Chapter 1 A Soul Within

Disclaimer : It's sad to admit that BBC Sherlock is not mine.

**Had Our Roads Not Been Crossed**

**Chapter 1 A Soul Within **

_Don't disappoint me now, honey, I thought you were interesting_

Sherlock Holmes was not a superstitious man. He was a man of science, armed with logic and deduction and trusting nothing that couldn't be proven by either one of those. Now, however, the damning _evidence_ was blinking in front of him, and for the first time in his entire life, Sherlock was considering the existence of supernatural beings. He _knew_ that if you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the answer; he told this to others often enough, but he had to say, he himself had never expected this kind of answer.

I would never listen to a word Stanford says now, Sherlock thought viciously for lack of better things to do. Stanford was the one who gave him the information about the flat in Montague Street, which was oddly cheap for a flat that was in London. Sherlock had asked for a reason of course, but Stanford just waved it away saying that Sherlock should be okay with it.

The reason, Sherlock later found out from the frantic owner, was that the place was haunted. That podgy and haggard man almost wept in relief when Sherlock said he wanted be a tenant, and whipped out the necessary documents in a comically hurried fashion. After Sherlock signed it, the man poured out his woe of being an unlucky enough fellow who had gotten cheated into buying a haunted flat, while irritatingly not giving the paper back.

Sherlock, not interested in slightest in the supernatural beings, just nodded along, hoping to finish the deal and get out of there fast. Apparently, it had been a wrong move, for it only assured the man that Sherlock wouldn't run like a baby at more horrendous tales. The man rattled out more unnecessarily facts about the flat; namely, gruesome death of the previous tenants. It picked Sherlock's interest for sure, and he thought maybe he would dig out the details if the boredom got to be too much, but all the same, he would have been much happier if the man had just released him without that particular titbit.

To tell the truth, the resident 'ghost' had been far from Sherlock's mind, at first. All he cared about the flat was that it was inexpensive and reasonably comfortable, and he had been satisfied with it. However, little things began to change his perspective; like stuffs moving out of their original place ever so slightly, coffee running out faster than he had expected it to be, that kind of things.

Of course, ghost has not been the first suspect that popped into his head. He figured that either a) he was hallucinating or b) his memory was failing; which were both vexing because he could think of only one thing that could possibly have cause it. Drugs. So after much debate with himself, he decided to go cold turkey for a while. Throwing out his stash actually felt like a defeat, for Mycroft's constant telling-off rang in his ears. He could actually imagine the smug voice telling 'I told you so' with a painful clarity. He hated his vivid imagination sometimes.

Unfortunately (or fortunately?) for Sherlock, even after his mind has been cleared of any and all stimulants – including caffeine – weird things continue to happen. Surely he hadn't put eyeballs in the fridge, but in the oven, and why the hack would he ever downloaded _romantic movies? _His mind wasn't tricking him; therefore there must be a _real_ person behind all this.

The only problem was that he had no clue. It wasn't Mycroft's attempt to make him quit, because it didn't fit in with his usual dramatic and/or flamboyant style. Not to mention that his brother wouldn't continue this inanity even after he managed to make Sherlock quit his habit. It wasn't some work of a minor stalker, according to the search of the previous tenants, because those little things later escalated to be much more inventive and cruel.

Actually it was hard to believe that any person had invaded the flat, now or before. There was absolutely no evidence of it; not even a tiny bit of hair or the scratch mark on the door could be found. Sherlock hoped that some small evidence, which would at least attest the fact that somebody else had been in the place, if not the intruder's identity, would be found, but no, even _that_ was too high a hope. There was too much mystery and too little data.

Sherlock let out a frustrated growl, and did something utterly stupid in a moment of insanity. He brought out his lap-top and typed in,

_Can you read this?_

Completely appalled at the fact that he tried to communicate with _the ghost_ like some kind of a brainless teenage girl, Sherlock stood stock still and stared at the computer screen for a few minutes. Those words continued to blink innocently at him. So, he, Sherlock Holmes, had really done that.

Hell. Getting clean must have cost him a lot more than he had thought it to be. He was going to get coffee as soon as possible. Shaking his head, Sherlock got a grip of his sanity once again, and tried to wipe clean those foolish words from his computer. His effort got thrown over, however, for his keyboard suddenly went out of control, keypads pressing themselves without anyone's touch. It created one sentence on the screen with fast, click-clack sound.

_Don't disappoint me now, honey, I thought you were interesting._

Sherlock Holmes was not a man who got surprised easily, or god forbid, freaked out. However, his whole world had just back-flipped now, so he considered it to be a wholly worthy time to do just that. However, he couldn't and _wouldn't_ stoop so low as to plaster his emotion all over his face.

_I'm getting my coffee, now. _

So he calmly typed in and stood up.

It was, in his not so humble opinion, a very dignified departure.

* * *

AN: Hopefully, that was an interesting enough begining :D

Frankly, I've been dying to write Ghost!Jim and Before-series!Sherlock story since I saw episode 203. That has been ages ago, but I finally got around writing it. I'm so excited to see where this story would take me XD.

So people, have anything to say to me? Don't resist, just say _something_! It would make me so happy :)


	2. Chapter 2 Living Together

**Chapter 2 Living Together**

Sherlock was never a fan of sharing his space with others. Being a roommate with Sebastian in the university had been bad enough, but living with Mycroft… it was a wonder that none of them had tried to strangle each other in that brief period. If Mycroft hadn't kicked him out first, giving a flimsy excuse of how Sherlock was wasting his money on drugs because he didn't have to worry about rents, Sherlock was sure that he would have stormed out of that place on his own. Possibly leaving a bleeding, unconscious older brother behind.

It was a wonder, therefore, how easy it was for Sherlock to accept his current companion, who was not even physically alive. For one, Sherlock no longer closed his laptop, for the ghost had once complained to him that it was difficult to open it by himself.

(Maybe, it was the fact that he was not alive that made their relationship work. Considering the fact that before him, the skull had the honour of being Sherlock's best companion, it was not that outrageous a claim. That probably spoke volumes of Sherlock's people skills, social life, or whatever, but he had long ago decided not to give a damn about what others thought about him.)

After that brief break-down caused by the realization that ghosts _really_ existed, and the wonderfully mind-clearing dose of caffeine, Sherlock's curiosity had made itself known. He had asked many questions, varying from the ghost's identity to the ability of ghosts, but this ghost seemed to be particularly against straight forward answers. More often than not the irritating _Not telling you _or _Work it out yourself :)_ would be the returning answer, and Sherlock had never felt such a vehement rage against the innocent emoticon, :).

The only information Sherlock managed to weasel out of the ghost was its name; James. And apparently it preferred to be called Jim. Sherlock decided to call him James, just so he could give back some of the vexation he received from it. Of course, James retaliated by giving him various pet names such as honey, darling, sweetie, and by god, _Sherly-kin_. Sometimes Sherlock would show indignation at being called as such, but he had already half accepted that as the way things were going to be between them.

_My, my, darling, I never thought that you were so popular._

Suddenly Sherlock's laptop came alive by its own volition. It had been a long day since it did that. James never had a set out time to make his existence known. Sometimes he would be quite for days, only sullenly pushing things down occassionally, but sometimes he would never shut up. It seemed like the brooding phase finally stopped and the chatty mood struck James again. Sherlock even felt somewhat glad about that. He was no longer bothered about supernatural phenomenon. Truly, there was no end to human adaptability.

_What do you mean?_

_People came in while you were out, and installed cameras and bugs. You've got yourself a one hell of a stalker. I'm almost jealous, honey. _

Sherlock growled low at that, instantly recognizing the culprit. Goddamn Mycroft and his inability to stay out of other people's business. With a movement born out of long practice, Sherlock quickly found out the ones hidden in various places, and gathered up the offending surveillance equipment.

"Mycroft," Sherlock spoke to one of the bugs with the sweetest voice he could manage, "this, is the last warning you would receive. Once more, and _she_ would hear about _the incident_. And I would not be above screaming into the bug, either. So Get, the fuck, out of my life." With that, Sherlock soundly crunched the thing inside his hand.

_Huh, that was almost professional, the way you removed all of them. Not an isolated incident, then? _

"Hardly," Sherlock replied tersely. He was so annoyed that he couldn't even bother to type in like he usually did.

_So who was it?_

"Mycroft, my brother."

Silence. Then,

_Ooh, kinky. Have a little thing for incest?_

"What? NO!" Sherlock shouted, completely scandalized, and almost gagged at the mental image that those words caused to pop inside his head. Oh god, he would have gladly gauzed out his eyes if it meant that he could wipe clean that particularly nasty piece of image. "He's just trying to stick his nose where it doesn't belong, because he 'cares' about me or some shit like that. More than likely, he's curious about why I suddenly stopped my habit."

_Yeah, I wonder about that do. Why did you have to quit? It had been real fun._

That was exactly why Sherlock decided to quit. After he had been assured that he was not hallucinating, Sherlock had gotten back to his beloved cocaine. James had been in his quite mood those days, and nothing interesting had been going on, so Sherlock had thought that it was as good as any time to go back.

Apparently, it hadn't been the smartest thing to with his ghost flatmate. James, who had gotten out of his flunk, had greeted his sober self with never ending '_HAHAHAHAHA' _which was more than a little bit creepy. He had also taken great delight in informing him that he was hilarious little babbling mass when he was high as kite. It made Sherlock wary of what he would say in his less than clear-minded state, and in some degree, even feel vulnerable. He had vowed that his only vice would be cigarette and coffee for as long as he got to live with James.

But there was absolutely no need to tell all of this to that irritating ghost. So Sherlock just settled in replying,

"Got bored of it, is all."

Evidently, James seemed to accept this short answer. After all, he got bored as easily and as often as Sherlock did. Sometimes, Sherlock would think about James and his boredom, and what would they have done to each other and the world if they had met when James was actually alive.

Sherlock thought that it would have been the better world.

_Oh well then_, James typed, penetrating Sherlock's odd contemplating, _you've gotta provide me with another entertainment. I'd like to see your brother._

"Mycroft? What for?"

_You are pretty much entertaining. Thought that another Holmes would liven up things a bit._

Sherlock didn't agree with that particular sentiment. His brother had usually dampened and ruined Sherlock's life if anything. However, he knew that Mycroft would visit sooner or later – probably far too much sooner than Sherlock liked it to be – because his nosiness would never allow him to stay too far away from Sherlock, especially when his little brother had gone through a curious change. Getting a visit from Mycroft was one of the sadly inevitable things in life.

"You would get your wish soon," so Sherlock carelessly replied with a shrug. James happily gave him his favourite emoticon, :).

* * *

AN : Another chapter done! I had to cut it a little short because of my assignments and stuffs, sorry for that, but hopefully next chapter would be a bit longer XD

Thanks to VirendraLione, Aeryn, emazeme for your kind reviews. It made me feel really happy :D

And again, what did you guys think about this chapter? Please say _something, _it encourages me greatly_!_


	3. Chapter 3 Feeling Alive

**Chapter 3 Feeling Alive**

True to Sherlock's prediction, Mycroft showed his albatross like self after few days. What Sherlock hadn't been able to predict was the way Mycroft held himself; his condescending and righteous expression was firmly attached to his face as usual, making Sherlock's fist itch, but Mycroft's complexion was on the side of a little too pale, and the distinct sings of uneasiness coloured his every behaviour. Sherlock could even see him suppressing a shiver.

"What did you do?" asked Sherlock after Mycroft's departure, with a touch of wonder. The meeting had been cut unusually short with Mycroft's barely trying to unravel whatever Sherlock had been up to. Since nothing like this ever had happened before, Sherlock reasonably assumed that it had something to do with James.

_Me? Why, I have no idea what you are talking about, darling. _

Sherlock was sure that if James had a physical body, he would have given Sherlock the most innocent and harmless expression. That was not particularly what Sherlock wanted to see, but still, it would have been better than having nothing to glare at when James annoyed him.

"Can you ever give a straight forward answer?" Sherlock asked, rolling his eyes.

_What would be the fun in that?_

Well, Sherlock at least had to concede to that.

* * *

James Moriarty was having the time of his life. The ironic thing was that he was not even physically alive. Oh, he still had his mind and spirit all right, but he had long shed his mortal body.

He looked down at the boy who was deep in thought with a cigarette held loosely on his hand. James knew that Sherlock would throw a hissy fit if he knew that he was being called as 'a boy', but that was what he truly was. For James, who had been forty-five before he died and endured many years after that as a ghost, that is. Sherlock looked like he was barely in his mid-twenties.

It was curious, how someone so young could make James feel this alive. No one had been able to do that.

_I'll find you, _Sherlock had said, after he realized that James had no intention of revealing his identity. James had felt thrill running up his now inexistent spine, lightening him up with excitement. He had heard that particular phrase from many people, from delusional one-nights to thoroughly tricked and thus dying enemies, but never had the thought of somebody actually succeeding in doing just that crossed his mind. When Sherlock had uttered those words, however, James knew thatthe boy would arrogantly tell him _James Moriarty, I found you _one day.

Sherlock would never know, but James spent many hours observing him in a close distance, wondering what made this boy so special. One of the benefits of being a ghost was that he could ignore the personal bubble and look intently at the subjects without them squirming away. Not that it wouldn't have been entertaining, but it would have ruined his inspection.

James held his hand close to the oblivious boy's cheek, creating the illusion of him caressing it. Sherlock, it seemed, was denser than most people when it came to feeling ghostly touch. Many people would suddenly feel cold and disoriented when he went near or through them, but Sherlock never felt any. Even when James had put his arm thorough Sherlock's torso and tickled his heart.

Perhaps it was lucky that James couldn't go through the objects and become solid at the same time, or he would have been sorely tempted to slowly squeeze the life out of that brilliant, brilliant boy's heart. He would have lost his playmate and maybe regretted that later, but seeing that ever changing eyes of his fading with hopelessness, hands grasping at nothing to prevent the invisible force, would have been too big an appeal for him to resist.

James sometimes wished that he could make Sherlock fidget in discomfort by merely going close to him like he could do to others, but maybe this way was better. Making Sherlock surprised or anxious was always fun, and James didn't want to make it a mundane thing. Not to mention, Sherlock's older brother had already gave him enough satisfaction in that area.

From the day Sherlock had revealed the fact that he had a brother, James had been anticipating the meeting with another Holmes. The meeting was not disappointing, to say the least. The man showed up with a black umbrella in the brilliantly sunny day, with a lofty expression that any aristocrats would have wanted to learn. Mycroft Holmes was the man who hid behind many masks; his little brother also did a good job in hiding his emotions, but he was no match for the older one.

The fun thing was that he was sensitive to ghosts, even more so than ordinary people.

James knew that Mycroft wouldn't have allowed himself to show discomposure in any other circumstances, so it was a treat to behold to watch that man silently struggling to stay still and turn pale in his presence. He crooned behind the usually stoic man, whispering _your little brother is mine now, isn't that nice? _in his deaf ear, and Mycroft's valiant but failed effort at suppressing the shiver caused James into a giggling fit.

He had never laughed so hard in his life, and he thought that maybe his life should be divided into two sections; Before Sherlock and After Sherlock. It was better than lame old BC and AC, for Sherlock was much entertaining than Jesus ever been to him anyway.

Before meeting Sherlock, James had thought that dying was mistake, because frankly speaking, he hadn't expected death to be so … mundane. And boring. That was an important factor, being boring. Fate was a bitch for sure, because the only reason he killed himself was to escape the utter ennui of the world, and look where he was. He should have known better than to believe the common people yapping about hell and eternal fire and devils. He thought he would thrive there, because at least in hell, people wouldn't be so painfully naive or foolish, right?

_Wrong _

Apparently, hell was where he had been all the time, with pedestrian and dull people uselessly filling the space. He had to entertain himself with painstakingly making himself become physical for a second, so he could move things around. The only good thing it did was spooking people or giving them a heart attack.

Oh how the mighty had fallen.

But now, this was much, much better, with Sherlock and his beautiful intelligence and with Mycroft ordering his men to dig dipper about Sherlock's life on his way out.

James' only regret was that he hadn't been able to meet them while he was still alive, making them dance with his web. It would have been nice; him, the mastermind behind all the crimes, and Holmes brothers, chasing after him with their lethal mind against him. He fantasized about it sometimes, and whenever he did that, he could feel the excitement at that mere thought, like toying with a deadly serpent. But that was just a fantasy, for the brothers probably wouldn't have been even born when James took the only option that would let him out of the never ending boredom.

Oh, well, he would just have to take whatever he could take.

Besides, it wasn't like Sherlock Holmes was going anywhere.

* * *

_I died in an explosion, too._

One day, James casually threw down the personal information about himself. That was such an unprecedented and unexpected thing that Sherlock just stared at the monitor for a quite a while.

"What?"

_Hello, can't you see the explosion? You were the one who turned on the telly. What did you do that for if you are not even going to properly watch it?_

Indeed, there were smokes and fires going off on the telly. Sherlock faintly remembered being bored enough to resort to television, but had soon lost interest. Evidently, he didn't see anything to be fascinated about blue phone boxes and crappy looking aliens. He must have gone too deep into his thoughts to turn it off again, though.

"I have no idea," Sherlock just casually shrugged. "Not that it's important. Why are you suddenly telling me about your death?"

_Just had to comment about it when they were showing me a piss poor excuse of an explosion. I'm telling you, explosions should be much more grand and epic than that. At least I died in the booming fireworks; it would have been embarrassing otherwise. _

Well, if all he had to do to drag some information out of James was to show him a crappy TV show, Sherlock would have done it long time ago. It was almost anti-climatic. It also threw him off his guard (James was particularly talented in that area). Sherlock had never heard from the survivors of an explosion, but he was sure that how 'cool' the explosion had been would have been far from their mind. Especially when they were dying.

It seemed like Sherlock had underestimated the insanity of his flatmate. Well, but there would be nothing to be gained to argue with a mad man. Or a spirit, in this case.

"I would be sure to die in epic flames."

_Be sure you do. _Sherlock thought that James would have nodded gravely if he had a body.

* * *

The appalling insight to the ghost's sanity aside, that had been valuable information to dig into James' history. Sherlock searched for the explosions in the past, especially in London, and found the one that would have satisfied James in its scale.

_June 15__th__, 1979_

Sherlock didn't know exactly when James had been born, but from the general vibes he got while talking to James, he knew enough to conclude that he had been born in 20th century. Also, since James was hanging around the Montague Street of all the places, he must have been related to London. The more Sherlock thought about it, the surer he became of the idea that James died in that explosion.

But that utterly enraptured way James talked about the explosion…. there wasn't even a hint of trauma to be detected in him. Maybe that was because it had been such a long time since he died. Even so, that level of fascination was unnatural.

Could James himself have caused it?

That was certainly a new way to look at his ghost flatmate. Sherlock hadn't for once expected James to have been a good and kind person, (the way he laughed at Sherlock's drugged state was enough to tell this), but he never thought of him as a criminal, either. It seemed like the time to entertain the new idea have come, and Sherlock gladly latched onto the new target for his focus.

There was so much information to gather and to analyze. Sherlock could fell his brain whirling at its full speed. It was refreshing, better than any feeling that previous stimulants had given him, and Sherlock couldn't help himself grinning like mad.

Sherlock, was certain, that this was the feeling of being alive.

* * *

AN: Thanks to **seikoxxx, akatsuki-tenshi-kitsune, Aeryn **for reviewing. Reading you guys' responses made me smile XD

Apparently, I'm enjoying writing this fic too much to stop. I hope I didn't get too carried away and made the characters OOC.

So, what do you think? I love hearing from you guys :)


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